


Scars are the Worst Tattoos

by smartblonde413



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied Substance use/abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Petstuck, Pretty much everyone is in this, Sadstuck?, Several established relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartblonde413/pseuds/smartblonde413
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Vriska Serket, and sometimes you really wish certain people would just vanish off the face of the earth. The crying troll in your arms is making this one of those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you're having a really shitty day.

Your job is only vaguely bearable, your boss is a grade- A dickwad, and you very nearly got fired because of some brainless client. Couple that with the fact that you have to walk a mile to and from work every day, you have a shitty apartment waiting for you down the street and that you have to order sketchy Chinese takeout for dinner tonight for the fifth time in a row, and overall your day is looking pretty bleak. 

You scuff your foot on the ground and huff a sigh through your nose, hands in your pockets as you walk home. You can hear the purring of an engine behind you, and you pay it no mind until a black, beat up car you've never seen before suddenly streaks past you, going at a speed barely legal for a residential area. Before you can even open your mouth to shout at the careless idiot, they slow down, toss a bag out of the driver's side window, and speed away. They don't even stop.

“HEY! FUCKNUTS! YOU CAN'T JUST CHUCK YOUR SHIT OUT FOR EVERYONE ELSE TO DEAL WITH!”

If they hear you, they give no indication, they just continue on their merry way. You wish you could've yelled louder. Thoroughly disgusted with how uncaring the driver was, you fully intend to walk right on by when you hear something make a noise in the grass.

You stop dead in your tracks, turning to look at the bag. Just as you begin to think you imagined the pathetic whimper, it shifts on its own. Jesus Christ, is there really a living thing in there?

More concerned than scared of what might be in the bag, you cautiously edge your way closer. When you see the imprint of a tiny, clawed hand push at the heavy burlap in a futile escape attempt, your heart does a wrenching twist in your chest. You untie the viciously complicated knot keeping the creature trapped, and as soon as you pull at the mouth of the bag a tiny fist grabs at it. You scramble back, and nearly fall on your ass when a sharp- horned head pokes its way out, sniffling and crying.

A troll. A tiny baby teal- blood by the looks of her tears. Couldn't be much more than three. You suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to repeatedly punch something, preferably the driver of the black sedan. The teal blood climbs very slowly, cautiously, out of the bag, sniffing at the ground and the cigarette- stale air. When she realizes you're sitting not five feet away from her, she lets out this pathetic chirping noise and scuttles backwards, bringing a scaly reptilian tail around from her back and clutching it protectively to her chest. You sit up straighter, your heart breaking and melting at the same time, and you reach out tentatively in an invitation for her to come closer. She squeals now, falling backwards over herself in her haste to get away, and you shoosh her in the gentlest tone you've used in years.

“Hush, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you, baby, I promise.” 

Her eyes widen, tiny mouth turning down at the corners in disbelief, but she doesn't try to run away this time. You slowly put your hand out, cautiously coming closer inch by inch until you can't be more than six inches from her head, and she swallows noticeably. When she doesn't back up you slowly move until you're touching her forehead. You can feel your already shattered heart throb when she flinches at the gentle gesture, but she still doesn't move so you softly start to stroke her hair. 

She seems to realize in that moment that you really aren't going to hurt her, that you're true to your word, so with a broken sob she flings herself at you, crying and apologizing and hiccuping and shaking. The force nearly knocks you on your ass again but you catch yourself with your feet, wrapping your arms around her pitiful and worryingly skinny figure. Her little claws dig into your shirt as teal tracks run down her face, and you feel like you may start crying yourself at how fucking heartless people are to these creatures sometimes.

Realizing that the tiny girl isn't going to let go anytime soon and that you may have just royally screwed yourself over, you stand carefully, moving the troll to your right hip. She keeps her face buried in your shirt as you start to walk, slowly, towards the shithole apartment you call home. You'd like to think you're resigning yourself to the fact that you may need to keep this troll right now as you walk down the sidewalk, but in truth you know that as soon as you saw her head poke out of that bag you were done for. Game over, adios, sayonara, Vriska Serket is a huge pushover who can't stand to sit back and let things happen. You mentally kick yourself for having to meddle with matters that really weren't your concern.

But then the little troll looks up at you, her teary eyes wide and cautiously trusting, and you know you couldn't have not interfered. She sighs, so small and innocent that you never want to let go of her, and she nuzzles her face into the black fabric of your shirt. She's weak and frail and delicate as an insect, not to mention dirty, snotty, covered in her own tears and stark naked, but you only grip her tighter. You walk home with new purpose, making plans to scour Craigslist for a bed she could use, when she flinches at a touch to her shoulder. You apologize quickly, and upon glancing down at her you realize you can see bruises and scars on her arms- not only her arms, they're sprinkled over her entire back and up to her neck like the worst little tattoos. Tiny teal blossoms all over her vulnerable figure.

A pit of seething disgust plants itself in the wreckage of your heart. Not only did her old owner leave her out in the cold, but they obviously didn't care about her even when she was living with them. You hope for their sake that those bruises were self- inflicted, that they were only the product of stupid negligence, but you have an awful feeling festering in your gut that they weren't. 

You make a promise to yourself then, your tired limbs gripping an abused troll with motherly strength and your eyes alight with the rage of a thousand hells. You are going to find the motherfucker who beat up on this little girl or may everything dear to you burn, you swear you will if it's the last thing you do.

But that can wait.

For now, your top priority is her. Getting her clothed, warm, fed, bathed, whatever she needs. Getting her some medicine, too, taking her to see a doctor. You need to find out if there are any pediatricians in your area who help troll children, not to mention you have to buy extra food and clothes and shit knows what else. You take a deep breath and keep walking, making a list of things to do in your head while you absently pet the troll's hair. 

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you have a feeling that this is going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

You arrive home with aching legs, unlocking your door, thanking God that the girl on lobby duty wasn't paying attention to anything other than her phone screen- your apartment doesn't technically allow pets, even if people didn't often follow that rule too strictly. To be fair, a troll is a bit more obvious than a goldfish, but it wasn't like they were barbarians- trolls could talk and walk on two legs and essentially function as proper members of society with the right upbringing. You might be able to convince people you're babysitting someone's kid if she ends up making too much noise, anyway.

 

You step through your main living space and head towards your bedroom. The little troll appears to have fallen asleep in your arms- if you listen really closely, you can hear tiny purring snores exiting her mouth as she breathes, and it may just be the cutest thing you've ever heard. You make your way through the clutter of your room, trying not to upset the stacks of sketches and designs, and sit down on your bed. You gently unhook her tiny claws from your shirt, managing by some miracle not to wake her, and you set her down on the pillow. You grab a seahorse plushie you've owned since you were five off your desk and set it down next to her- a precious and sentimental object, since it was probably the only thing you still had that reminded you of your father.

 

She stirs in her sleep and you freeze, scared you've woken her up. When she only rolls over and hugs the seahorse to her, still asleep, you exhale a sigh of relief, running a hand through what's left of your blonde hair. The shaved half is starting to feel fuzzy, you realize, and you make a note to touch it up when you get time.

 

Exhaustion suddenly hits you like a freight train and you yawn so hard your jaw pops. You need a shower desperately and your shirt needs to be washed, not to mention you have to take off your makeup and undo your various piercings if you want to look even vaguely presentable for work tomorrow.

 

On second thought, you might just take a day off.

 

You wriggle yourself out of your clothes and throw on an old tank top, dragging yourself into the bathroom and taking out your lip piercings before wiping your face down with a wet washcloth. A quick appraisal in the mirror- you look like hell- and you're off to bed-

 

Wait, dammit, she's sleeping there. You thunk your forehead with the heel of your palm as you realize she's still dirty and gross and needs to be cleaned up and taken care of, still needs her bruises treated and her hair brushed and oh god you still don't even know her name.

 

You feel like shit for doing it, especially when she mumbles annoyedly in her sleep, but you shake her as gently as you can in an attempt to get her to wake up.

 

“Hey, sweetie. You gotta get up, you have to come get clean. Can you do that?”

 

She groans and rubs tiny fists against her eyes, trying her best to stay coherent despite her exhaustion.

 

“mmupwhatshappenin'whoszatt,” She slurs, her words heavy with sleep. You realize this is the first time you've really heard her talk- her voice is high and squeaky and raspy and _little_ and it makes you want to hold her forever.

 

“It's just me- I carried you home, my name's Vriska.”

 

She opens her eyes all the way now, blinking owlishly and staring at you in wonder. The sheer innocence in her teal-blue eyes knocks the air out of your lungs.

 

“Hi,” You whisper breathlessly, giving her a genuine smile.

 

“Hello,” She says, quiet and timid. She looks around, eyes flitting over your room, before coming to rest on you. She tilts her head like a puppy, questioning, as her eyes find the tattoos on your lower collarbone and shoulder. She starts to reach out like she's going to touch them, but she seems to catch herself and yanks her hand back.

 

“Sorry! I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I swear, I didn't mean to say anything I'm sorry-”

 

“Whoa! Calm down, it's fine! You're okay, you didn't do anything- oh no no no it's okay..” She had started to cry, curling her knees into her chest and hugging them to her as she shook with fear and the force of her sobs. Your mind is overcome with worry, then disgust and rage. Who was awful enough to teach this little girl that it isn't okay to talk to someone? You hug her protectively to your chest and she stiffens, her surprise overwhelming her fear enough to stop her crying. You rub her back softly and she gradually uncurls, tears drying on her face.

 

“You aren't in trouble. You will _never_ be in trouble for being curious about me, okay? You have every right to want to know about me.”

 

“Really?” You nod and her brows furrow in confusion. “But... but I need to ask to talk. He got mad at me if I..” She trails off, starting to shiver again, her eyes staring at something a million miles away.

 

Your eyes go wide and you hold her to your chest again. You didn't even know it was possible for a single person to be so horrible to ANYONE, let alone a troll this young. Would they- he, you have pronouns now- seriously deny the girl a such a basic right?

 

“Well, he's not here now. You're with me, you're safe, okay? He won't hurt you again.”

 

In your arms, she sighs. You can practically feel her wanting to believe you, wanting to know that everything will really be okay, but there's this feeling in the back of your head that she doesn't quite believe you. That she's just waiting for you to betray her, to leave her alone again, for there to be a catch to your kindness. At this thought, it's your turn to sigh.

 

“Come on. Lets get you cleaned up, yeah?”

 

“Okay.”

 

You scoop her into your arms and walk with drooping eyelids to your bathroom. You need to get this over with as soon as possible, sleep is calling your name all too loudly for your liking. Apparently it's calling to her pretty loudly as well- when she yawns her mouth opens wide enough for you to catch sight of sharpish teeth and a gray, curling tongue.

 

You set her on the toilet seat and draw a bath, feeling the water heating sluggishly beneath your hand as you test it. When you start to pour in the good soap- the pretty, pink bubbly shit that smells like fruit- you can hear the troll shifting around and sniffing the air voilently behind you. You watch her out of the corner of your eye as her pupils dilate, her tail swishing in an almost feline manner, still inhaling as much air as is physically possible through her nose. She almost has a little troll aneurism when she sees stray bubbles start to rise into the air.

 

You stop the water and cap the soap before holding your arms out to help her down. She drags herself toward you after a few seconds, moving like she's in a daze and  _still sniffing holy shit_ . You hope really hard that her reaction is only so intense because she hasn't seen this kind of soap before, and not because you're accidentally drugging her. The last thing you need right now is for her to start tripping balls while you're trying to get her clean.

 

You gently lower her into the water, her tail and legs making imprints in the layer of foam around her. You may have gone a bit crazy with the soap. She blinks and looks around as if only just becoming aware of her surroundings, her tail beginning to swish and stir the water beneath the bubbles. Her sniffing slows but her pupils stay dilated as she watches occasional bubbles float into the air- when one starts to drift towards her face she squeaks and tries to scoot back, but she isn't fast enough and it pops on her nose.

 

You giggle a little at her stunned expression. When she realizes that nothing bad happened because of the strange popping floaty- thing, she cautiously smiles, lets out a giggle, and starts reaching out with her clawed hands to pop as many as she can.

 

It's the first time you've seen her happy, you realize. The first time you've seen her laugh and smile and let her walls down to honestly have a good time. It's breaking your heart a little but more than that it's making your insides feel like they're warm and glowing, because you did something right. You managed to make this little girl smile and right now, that's the best thing you could imagine.

 

The sound of sloshing water startles you out of your thoughts. The troll had managed to stand in the water, and had shuffled awkwardly over to the side of the tub to look at you. You smile at her and, to your elation, she smiles back. She opens her mouth to talk, seems to stop herself, then suddenly decides to continue.

 

“Miss Viska, what are these?” She points a tiny hand at the bubbly foam. You internally squeal at her mispronunciation of your name and make a mental note to tell her she doesn't need to call you 'miss'.

 

“Those are bubbles. Do you like them?” You know her answer even before she nods enthusiastically.

 

“Yes! Yes, they're very pretty! And they go away when I touch them!” You laugh at her delighted expression, happy beyond words that she's talking to you freely.

 

“They sure do! I'm glad you're enjoying them.” You take a bottle of shampoo off the side of the tub and she tilts her head like a puppy again.

 

“I need to wash your hair. Unless you can do it yourself?” She looks even more confused and shakes her head.

 

“You have special bubbles for hair? I thought you just used the water.” Oh god has she never properly washed her hair? That is unacceptable to the highest degree. What nasty conditions must she have- you stop yourself when you realize you don't want to find out. You just want to severely injure the person responsible.

 

“Yes, I have special bubbles for hair. Do you wanna see it?” She nods again and you uncap the shampoo, pouring a glob onto your palm.

 

“That doesn't look like bubbles,” She says skeptically. You smile and dunk your other hand in the water before rubbing your palms together, creating honey- scented foam. She stares in awe.

 

“There, see? Bubbles! Loads of tiny ones all pushed together. Now, could you get your hair wet for me, please?” She nods vigorously before taking a big breath, squeezing her eyes shut and submerging herself entirely. She doesn't even give you time to be worried before she surfaces and wipes water out of her eyes, sufficiently drenched.

 

“That works,” You say, smiling a little and squeezing more shampoo out into your hands.

 

“Now, could you move to the other side of the tub and sit down facing away from me?” She follows your instructions obediently and without a word. It's a little worrying to you, but hardly a reason to complain.

 

You sit on the edge of the bathtub and carefully swing your feet into the calf- deep water on either side of her. Carefully, so as not to startle her, you work your hands into her hair. It's short, a few inches above shoulder- length, and jet black. It's also hideously tangled. She's silent as you work through the knots around her shoulders, though, even when your hands accidentally jerk and pull on one of the bigger snarls. It's only when you get near her horns that she starts to make noise- she begins to purr and her shoulders slump as she relaxes. You wonder if she's ever had anyone honestly pet her before.

 

You work for several minutes, watching her repeatedly jerk herself awake. She just keeps purring, sometimes so intensely that her whole body vibrates, and it makes you unreasonably happy. You eventually rinse and brush through her hair, getting her dried and out of the tub and grabbing her the smallest shirt you own to wear as a nightgown.(She's so small she's still practically swimming in it.) You're so tired your limbs tremble when you lift her, so you figure you can probably wait to look at her bruises tomorrow. She doesn't seem to be in any pain and there aren't any open wounds, so they aren't that huge of a concern right now. Your bed seems a lot more important.

 

You hoist her up onto the bed first, getting her situated before crawling in around her. You were almost afraid to do so, knowing she had been abused before, but she doesn't seem to mind at all- in fact, once you get comfortable, she snuggles herself into your chest, clutching her seahorse plush and sighing contentedly. Just as you're about to fall asleep you remember one kind of important detail about her you completely missed, and you want to hit yourself.

 

“Hey sweetheart, you still awake?” She mumbles something incoherent into her plushie before nodding.

 

“What's your name?”

 

“Terezi.” It's odd, but when you think about it, it fits her. Besides, you aren't exactly one to talk about weird names.

 

“Alright, then. Goodnight Terezi.”

 

She hums a reply and with that, she's asleep. You can feel your own eyes getting heavy, so you let them fall shut. Your arms curl around Terezi lazily, holding her like something delicate. 'She's warm', you think to yourself, 'like a personal space heater.' With that thought you fall slowly into the darkness, and sleep better than you have in years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit this took way too long to finish. My job is absolutely devouring my time, but hopefully i can get the next chapter up faster than this one. Eesh, i hope nobody was too anxious about this update!


	3. Chapter 3

You wake up to a sleeping Terezi still curled in your arms, your alarm blaring annoyingly, realizing that you still need to call your boss to let him know you're taking a day off. Mr. Slick, your positively _charming_ employer, is especially disagreeable in the morning if he hasn't already had three cups of coffee blacker than his suit jacket. The lazy bastard insists someone else bring it to him, as he hasn't bothered to figure out how the machine works himself, and since you're the newest employee that's your first order of business in the morning. If you aren't going to be there for work first thing today, he's going to be crabby when you call.

 

You heave a sigh, get yourself out of bed without waking Terezi (she sleeps like a goddamn log- you wonder if she's slept in a real bed before and promptly pinch yourself to stop that train of thought), and shut off your alarm with a slap. You need to make food for the both of you and find her some clothes and get her to a vet or someone who actually knows what they're doing. You realize suddenly that you probably can't take her to work with you and you'll need to hire a babysitter or find a daycare service or something. Shit, you didn't think this through at all.

 

Responsibility and planning were never really your strong suits. When it was necessary, or when you were being watched, you pulled through as spectacularly as you could, but it's only since you've become an adult that you find yourself truly needing to budget time and take care of things on your own. You used to enjoy pretending that you were lucky enough to be able to shirk responsibility entirely, despite only doing so to take your mind off of an imposing deadline, but now that failing to meet a due date costs a lot more than a letter on a sheet of paper you find that 'luck' is definitely not on your side.

 

Lost in thought and absently sighing to yourself you dress in a T-shirt and gray sweatpants, preparing to make breakfast for two for the first time in a while. You trudge to the bathroom, running your hand through what's left of your bleached- blonde hair and swearing when you realize you didn't take out your contacts last night. It's time to break out the chunky black hipster- esque glasses you've had stashed in the mirror cabinet for about five years. Your blue eyes are heavy with sleep, and have slight bags under them from late nights of sketching designs- a fact only magnified by your prescription lenses. Your nose piercing takes too much effort to put in, you decide, as well as your spider bites. (You're thinking of letting those heal up anyway. They pop out grossly when you smile.)

 

You finish in the bathroom, navigating your way to the kitchen and fiddling with your right ear stretcher as you brace yourself in preparation for the New York- accented hurricane that is Mr. Slick. Time to head into battle.

 

>:]

 

 

An hour later you are off the phone, your 'sick' day confirmed (with some marvelous acting on your part) and four eggs scrambling in a pan. In that span of time you looked up troll- safe foods to check if any part of the contents of your fridge were going to be a problem- the only questionable things you found were energy drinks and chocolate. It seems trolls have bad intestinal issues when given chocolate or products with chocolate in them, and much like dogs, a large enough amount can kill them. Caffeine affects them much in the way it affects small children- it gets them hyped as fuck and it can cause sickness or migraines if they're particularly sensitive. You make a note to keep your stash of Monster out of her reach until you can build up your tolerance for coffee and get rid of them entirely. You move the chocolate to a cabinet above your counter and prepare to deal with lukewarm Hershey's bars for a very long time.

 

You hear a sudden creak and a shuffle of the blankets from down the hall before the thump- swish of tiny footsteps start to make their way out of your bedroom. You take the eggs off the burner and begin fixing two glasses of water as Terezi ambles to the kitchen, peeking timidly out at you from behind a counter. You nearly do a double take at the blanket wrapped around her- she dragged the entire comforter from your bed down the hall with her, wearing it like a huge cloak. Her horns make a strange square shape on top of her head, and her eyes blink owlishly at you from the shadow of her makeshift hood.

 

“Morning, Terezi,” you say with a laugh in your voice.

 

“G'morning, ma'am,” she says, quiet and unsure. The “ma'am” seems to come to her lips easily. Too easily.

 

“Oh, no. I'm not “ma'am” to anyone but the police and insurance guys on the phone. I'm just Vriska.”

 

She shuffles on her feet and draws the blanket closer around her. “Sorry m- I mean Verrr... Vvviska.” She draws out your name in an attempt to pronounce it. She fails adorably.

 

“It's okay, nothing to be sorry about! Why don't you come sit down for breakfast?”

 

She blinks for a second before shuffling to the counter, climbing clumsily but effectively up the nearest barstool. She can barely see over the top of the counter when she sits down, and her little huffy sigh and scrunch- nosed pout at this realization are endlessly endearing. You wonder if it's possible to die of cute.

 

After some shuffling around she ultimately decides to stand on the seat of her chair, staring at the eggs curiously as you bring them to the counter. She sniffs at her plate, examining the contents thoroughly, looking very, very confused.

 

“Mis- I mean Verrriska, what is it?”

 

“It's eggs. Are you hungry?”

 

She starts to nod before stopping and shaking her head, staring dejectedly at the ground. This strikes you as both strange and very concerning. Her stomach lets out a growl at that moment and she blushes teal, trying to disappear under the blanket.

 

“Sorry, I'm sorry!”

 

“Oh no no no, it's okay! You're allowed to be hungry, Terezi, everyone gets hungry! There's nothing to be sorry about.”

 

She stays under the blanket, but you can see her shoulders relax a little. You swear to yourself that for everything Terezi thinks she shouldn't show or do because of her old owner, you will punch him one more time. Your count so far is up to two- three?- and you already feel queasy just thinking that there may be more.

 

She begins cautiously sniffing at her plate again from under the blanket. Her nose peeks out eventually from the shifting blanket, followed by her chin, mouth, cheeks, and finally eyes. She picks up a chunk of egg from her plate with her clawed fingers, inspecting it almost comically before shoving it into her mouth. She evidently decides that she likes it, as she almost immediately she begins attacking the contents of her plate like she hasn't eaten in days.

 

Come to think of it, she might not have.

 

You push that thought away and instead sit down across from her, beginning to work on your own plate while she inhales her eggs. You hope she doesn't get a stomachache from eating so fast, but she seems content at her own pace so you let her go crazy. It couldn't be that bad, right?

 

>:]

 

Okay, so next time she has food she's going to need to eat it very, _very_ slowly.

 

She declared that her stomach felt funny after she had finished her plate, then proceeded to nearly vomit all over your counter- she didn't, which is good, but now she has the mother of all stomach aches plus nausea and you have no idea what kind of medicine she can take. Tylenol? Advil? Would those be too strong for her? Would they even work on a troll? Fuck, what do you do, you've had her for less than 24 hours and you've already fucked up!

 

Okay, keep calm. You can do this. You try to remember if the websites you looked at had information on this sort of thing- remembering that you didn't think to look at any of the sickness information, you pull out your phone from it's charger cord and do another quick search on troll health. You decide to check for a local veterinarian rather than a home remedy, since she probably needs vaccinations and proper wound treatment and such anyway. You think you can remember passing one on your daily commute to work, but you aren't sure what it's called. You wish you had payed more attention to it as you search for it.

 

Aha, there it is- it's called Second Star Veterinary Clinic and Pet Emporium, and it's only about 10 minutes from your house. The clinic's website says that walk- ins are welcome, so you toss your phone to your bed, scoop Terezi into your arms, and begin the trek, thinking about how improbably lucky you are to have a clinic so close to your house. You pray that Terezi won't get sick on you while you walk as you sneak past the front desk and head out the door.

 

She groans, limp in your arms, eyes squeezed shut against the bright sun. You try to keep her as level as possible while you walk, thanking God that there weren't many people outside to stare at the two of you. You hope the shirt she's wearing isn't too hot for her and that nobody will care that you're basically in pajamas and that this walk will go fast, regardless of how nice it is outside. At that moment, Terezi shifts in your arms, yanking you out of your thoughts.

 

“Miss, where're we goin'?” Terezi mumbles, an arm thrown over her face to block out the light.

 

“We're going to get you some medicine for your stomachache, okay? It won't take very long.” You hope.

 

“What's medicine?”

 

At her words, horror rises in your throat like bile. My god, she doesn't know what medicine is. She's never been treated for _anything_ , at least not formally. It knocks the air out of your lungs for a second, and you fight to keep your expression neutral as you grasp for a response.

 

“Medicine makes you feel better when you're sick, or when you hurt anywhere. We need to get you some so your belly stops feeling gross and so I know you're healthy.”

 

She seems content with this answer, so she gives a slight nod and goes limp again. Another five minutes and you should be at the clinic, according to the watch on your left wrist, so you speed up a little in hopes that it won't be crowded. It 's only 12:00, so there aren't many people outside, but the ones that are stare at you shamelessly as you pass. You can't blame them too much, really. Trolls are generally exotic pets, owned by people with several cars and houses worth more than your entire apartment building, so seeing one with it's owner in this part of town is pretty unusual. There are a few strays running around, but compared to the stray dogs and cats, there are hardly any. They're creeping towards endangered on the species population list, so it isn't hard to see why.

 

There it is, just around the corner. The clinic is small, wedged between a run- down dive and a Dollar Tree. It actually looks fairly clean on the outside, despite it's neighbors seemingly trying to do their best to make the whole street look trashy. A sign out front advertises the name of the business, a happy looking white dog with two stars on it's chest planted in the middle of the logo. It seems friendly and- dare you say it- trustworthy, so you decide to head inside. Not like you had much of a choice in the matter anyway.

 

A bell dings as you push the door open, the smell of animals and _clean_ hitting you in the face as soon as you step over the  threshold. The white tile squeaks under your flip- flops conspicuously while you walk to the front desk, behind which a curvy woman with masses of dark curls and a pink headband sits. She looks up at you as you approach and smiles kindly, her white teeth contrasting beautifully with her dark skin.

 

“Hello! How may I help you today?” Her eyes sparkle from behind pink glasses, and you find yourself smiling with her. She's infectiously bubbly, and you haven't even properly met her yet. No wonder she works the front desk.

 

“Hey, uhm, do you guys treat trolls, by any chance?” Your voice is rough and sandy compared to hers.

 

“We sure do! What's the issue?”

 

“Well, she has some stomach pain and I needed to know what medicine to use. Not to mention she's a stray, and I need to know if she's had shots and probably get paperwork done for that.”

 

“Oh, I see. Is she with you?” My god, she's so short behind that desk she can't even see her in your arms.

 

“Uh, yes. Yes, she's right here.” You lift your arms a bit as the lady stands, leaning over the desk to observe Terezi's limp form. As soon as her eyes land on the troll, her face softens into a mixture of sympathy and 'awwwwww, how cute!'. 

 

“Oh, she's a cutie. Hold on, lemme get the doctor and he'll be out to help you in just a second!” She stands up and trots down a short hall to the left of the reception desk. To your surprise, it seems like she may actually be taller than you. 

 

Not thirty seconds later you hear a door open and the sound of wheels squeaking down the hall begins to move towards you. The hell-

 

“Hi, Feferi said you needed help with a troll?”

 

He's in a wheelchair, that's the first thing you notice. It certainly explains the wheel noises. The second thing you notice is his voice, then his face and all of a sudden you're five years old and playing fairies with the boy next door. It can't actually be who you think it is, but everything about him is just so unmistakably _him_  that it's ridiculous to think it could be anybody else. Against your will, your mouth drops open.

 

“Tavros Nitram?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh lord this took far too long. i really am sorry, i just have had personal stuff going on and i hadn't been able to write. expect the next chapter sooner, since i'm not so mean as to leave you with a cliffhanger for two months. ^u^


	4. Chapter 4

“Vriska? Is that- I haven't- I haven't seen you in years! Oh man, wow, uhh...”

 

This is insane. The last time you saw this boy was when you were both six years old, and it's been almost eighteen years since you last laid eyes on him. You kind of hoped you wouldn't have to do so ever again, since he had moved from your childhood hometown in Delaware to Texas after you-

 

Well.

 

“Yeah, uh.” You clear your throat, eyes flitting around the room in an attempt to look at anything but his chair. He does likewise before speaking after an awkward eternity.

 

“Well, uh, I suppose we should take a look at the patient, huh?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, let's do that.” He swivels and heads down the hall he entered from to a door on the right, motioning for you to follow. He leads you into an exam room with pictures of butterflies and assorted cartoon characters, wheeling to the low exam table. He pats the surface and you set a dazed Terezi onto the paper with a hideously loud crunch that startles her out of her funk and prompts her to glance around.

 

“Okay, first things first, what's your name, hon?” Terezi looks at Tavros curiously, head tilted in confusion.

 

“Me?” She mouths, pointing to her own chest. He nods at her, giving her a smile and shuffling through a small stack of papers he pulls off his desk.

 

“Uh, Terezi.”

 

“Hi Terezi, I'm Doctor Nitram. You can call me Tavros if it's easier. Now, I'm just going to give you a quick checkup and if there's anything iffy we can address that, okay?”

 

Terezi nods and stares at her hands shyly when he scoots his wheelchair over. Tavros suddenly looks oddly unsure and then, to your concern, horrified for a split second before smiling again and pulling a stethoscope and knee- tapper- thing off his desk. She stares at them curiously while he explains their use and why she shouldn't worry, it won't hurt a bit, I promise! You notice that his stutter all but disappears when he talks to her, and you wonder briefly if he's like that with all his patients. In any case, he's obviously in his element.  
  
You plunk yourself into a chair by the exam table as he goes about the checkup gently and efficiently, making sure to talk through it and ensure he isn't hurting her. Terezi seems uncharacteristically trusting and unafraid of the strange metal/rubber objects in front of her, and you're pretty thankful. You didn't want to have her freak out at the doctor's office.  
  


Tavros soon finishes with the basic health analysis and jots a few things down on a clipboard, clicking his tongue absently to himself before wheeling to the door.  
  


“I'm going to leave for just a few minutes, Terezi. In the meantime, one of our doctors, Rose, is going to come in and take a look at you herself, okay? She's very nice, don't worry!” He waits for Terezi to nod okay, then turns to look at you and gestures for you to follow him.

 

“Vriska, a minute, please?”

 

You shrug and follow him, assuring Terezi that you'll be right back before scooting out the door and heading down the hall. Tavros cracks a door and mutters something to whoever's inside- you assume it's Rose- before wheeling to the end of the hall and settling just below the small window there. You follow to stand in front of him.

 

“Okay, uh, so she has a lot of bruises, and that's not, y'know, normal. I wanted to ask you, before we do anything, just personally. Were you, uh, involved in any of those accidents?”

 

“What? No, I- hang on, are you insinuating that you think _I_ beat up on her?”

 

“No, no, I-” He clears his throat nervously, avoiding your angry gaze. “-look, it's a safety concern, not to mention a logical assumption. It isn't, uh, that I thought you would do something like that, per- se, but I do have to, check. If we have, cause to think she's in an unsafe environment, then we have legal right to do a, um, background check on the owner, to make sure. And, uh, if she _is_ unsafe, with you, then we can physically take her. But that's just, y'know, worst case scenario, plus we'd need to get the police involved, and, yeah. It'd be a mess. I really don't wanna do that, trust me. It's just, y'know, shady, the number of bruises she has.”

 

“Of course it is, why the hell did you think I picked her up? Look, okay, I found her off the street. I actually watched some jackass throw her out of a car window. She's only been with me since yesterday, I haven't even had time to get her into an accident! I took her here to find out where those bruises came from, how new they are, and if there's any damage we can't see that needs to be treated. I get that it's protocol, whatever, but can we please just treat her before you start grilling me?”

 

You're interrupted by a door opening and closing as a short- haired blonde woman in purple scrubs slips across the hall and into the exam room. You can hear the faint scraps of speech that leak through the door after a few seconds, and you feel comforted slightly upon hearing what you assume to be Rose's calm, smoothly pitched voice.

 

Tavros sighs and breaks you out of your thoughts. He still refuses to meet your eyes, but you can't tell what he's feeling to cause the shyness.

 

“Okay, then. Yeah, we can just treat her first, considering that is our main concern. Sorry for, uh, accusing you of anything, I didn't mean to. She just, y'know, looks like she came from, somewhere bad. We'll do our best to, uh, help her out. Speaking of, actually, the type of medicine you should use, for a troll of her age, is just Ibuprofen. As she gets older, you can use Tylenol or Advil. You can, uh, pretty much just use the same medications, on her, as you would on a human child. You may need a higher dose, actually, just two pills rather than one, depending on how she reacts. Troll's stomachs are stronger, than human's, so just play it by ear and we'll see how it goes.”

 

“Fine. Thanks, doctor.”

 

You take a deep breath, force the glare off of your features, and turn from his nervous form. You aren't quite certain why his accusation pissed you off so much. It wasn't like it was ridiculous or even very rude at all, he has the right to be concerned and it was a very valid assumption. You mull the thought over in your head as you head back to the exam room, pulling the door open and squeezing yourself in as quietly as possible. You're too caught up in your own mind to manage more than a wave towards Terezi (who blinks at you briefly) and Rose. (who nods before continuing with an examination of Terezi's back.) 

 

You plunk yourself into a chair and contemplate your anger. You think it might have had something to do with Tavros being the one to ask about the bruises- he always managed to annoy you simply by existing when you were both younger, perhaps there's residual annoyance? Or maybe it was the assumption that you would even  _think_ about hurting Terezi, on purpose or otherwise, that made you really mad. You decide at length that it was probably some combination of the two that set you off and resolve to compose yourself more professionally next time.

 

Terezi suddenly squeaks on the exam table and your eyes immediately shoot up to her, back straightening in alarm. When you realize that she's grinning and that the squeak was of laughter because she was poked in the belly, your shoulders relax and you let out the breath you didn't realize you had gasped in. You're struck with the realization that you would have fucked that doctor's shit up if she had hurt Terezi, no questions asked, and that you may be getting a bit more attached than you thought. This was not part of the plan. Then again, was there ever a plan?

 

When Tavros enters the room again, he awkwardly avoids looking at you and instead quietly confers with Rose and Terezi, nodding and smiling occasionally. He then announces to the left arm of your chair that they're going to give her a quick scan of some sort to see if there are any internal issues, like broken bones, that they need to find and treat. You opt to wait in the exam room, as you're honestly too scared to be in the same room as her if there's anything awful on any of the X-rays since you might do something really embarrassing and freakout- esque. It should only take about twenty minutes, anyway, so you hunker down, pull out your phone and prepare to wait. Time for more troll care research.

 

>:]

 

The twenty- minute wait became a forty minute wait after Rose noticed some sort of suspicious anomaly in one of her ribs. Turns out it had been fractured before, but the injury was so small it had simply healed on it's own. Now, the matter of where it came from, that's much more worrying. You felt almost sick when Rose told you.

 

The clinic gave you some paperwork to sign, as well as a manual on troll health and a (complimentary) collar. Once you had skimmed the sheets and signed your name in aggressive, angular cursive, Terezi was officially and legally recognized as yours. The concept of owning someone who can walk and talk still feels off to you, but if this is what you need to do in order to keep Terezi with you, you're going to do it. You've grown very attached to her in a very short amount of time, and frankly, it's almost worrying. This feeling of needing to protect and care for someone is dangerously foreign, not to mention unexpected. You think very much that you might be getting in over your head.

 

The examination is nearly over. Currently, they're checking over the X- rays one last time and addressing her stomach (which by now is feeling much better) so you're sitting in the main lobby, paperwork and collar in hand, waiting impatiently for them to finish.

 

When the door to the exam room finally opens, it's only Rose who exits. She's got a very grim expression on her face, and approaching with her is a veritable wave of foreboding. Something's wrong.

 

“Miss Serket?”

 

You're nearly on the edge of your seat by the time she speaks to you. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

 

“Well, it depends. There is something we've found that could potentially be very disheartening, although it's not life- threatening.”

 

“Oh, God, what is it?” Oh no. Oh _no,_ what happened, did you fuck up? Is it the douche that had her before? Holy shit, say something.

 

“Terezi comes from a currently unknown background. From the looks of her, her previous owner was... unkind, let's put it that way for the sake of decency. According to your account you watched her get literally tossed to the streets for no apparent reason, yes?”

 

“Yes, yes I know all this. Tell me what's wrong.” You're so scared and apprehensive and your heart's beating a million miles a minute. You want to scream at this woman to hurry up.

 

“I believe we may have found the reason she was abandoned.”

 

Her words fall like brass to the floor. When they strike, they resonate. The pause between her sentences feels like a millennium and you get the distinct impression that she talks like this often.

 

“See, Terezi is a teal- blooded troll. Those that share her blood hue are more susceptible to problems with the eyes and nose, so because of this we did a quick non-intrusive test to assess her vision.”

 

Pause. Her words ring with anticipation.

 

“She has an issue with her eyes that unfortunately affects around 45% of teal- bloods. There is a degenerative disease present in this percentile that causes gradual vision worsening and problems, occasional colorblindness, and eventually complete loss of the function of her eyes.”

 

You could hear a pin drop in the horrified silence that follows.

 

“So, she- she's going to go... blind? That's what you mean, right?”

 

“Yes. I'm really very sorry, it can be a tough thing to deal with. We haven't told Terezi just yet, we wanted you to know first in case you wanted to be the one to break it to her. It's also an option to simply wait, although I really wouldn't advise that. It's best for her to know.”

 

“I- yes, alright. I guess it is.” For the first time in years you find yourself craving a drink. Maybe a cigarette. How do you tell her, how do you even begin to explain to her what she'll have to go through? When you realize what you just thought you succumb to a sudden wave of self- loathing over the fact that _you_ felt the need to forget about this, to resort to substances and take your mind off of something that doesn't even affect you. You're so irresponsible, so selfish, how could you ever even hope to be a good caretaker? You sigh and squeeze your hands together before glancing, guilty, up at Rose. You can't do it, you can't tell her. You don't know how.

 

“Would you mind telling her? I... don't think I have the words to make it sound okay.”

 

“Of course. Keep in mind that the effects of this disease won't truly begin to set in until she is in her late teens- currently she is only about six, however her mental age is more around nine or ten. She is very perceptive, Miss Serket, you have a learner on your hands.”

 

She smiles an almost coy, fleeting smile before glancing over her shoulder.

 

“I'll go help doctor Nitram inform Terezi. We'll be out soon, assuming all goes well. Thank you for your time, and again, I'm sorry.”

 

She turns almost elegantly and walks away, her slightly heeled shoes clicking on the bright tile. You feel hollow in the aftermath of the news, but you still find the will to be pissed. What's she apologizing to you for? You aren't the one who's going to go blind! The very thought that anything Terezi can't control about herself, especially something like this, would inconvenience you or annoy you makes you want to hit something. You don't think she could do anything at this point that would make you stop caring about her.

 

After only a few more minutes of waiting Terezi and Tavros exit the exam room, Rose following shortly thereafter. Terezi looks shaken and dazed, and the doctors have grim looks on their faces, though they force smiles as they approach you. You don't know why they bother.

 

“Alright. Now all we need is payment and you are free to leave. Terezi is very strong, she should be fine.”

 

At Rose's words Terezi shuffles on her feet, giving a sad ghost of a smile to the floor. Your heart hurts for her as you beckon her to follow you to the front desk, where you hand over the card in your wallet and let the bubbly front desk lady- what was her name? It started with an 'F'- scan it into the machine. You zone out a little as she types away, her nails clicking gently on the keys, glancing occasionally at Terezi's tiny form. She looks like she might shrink into her t- shirt and disappear at any moment, and she seems so  _fragile_ that you want to protect her and shield her from the entire world. No blindness, no doctors, no sickness, no bruises, no scars. God, do you wish you could do that for her.

 

The next minutes pass by in a blur while your payment is approved. Now you're an official pet owner, you have a collar and paperwork in your hands and suddenly you're outside in the glaring sunlight, squinting in the garish heat of mid- afternoon. You blink a few times before your eyes adjust and you carefully scoop Terezi into your arms, being mindful of your handful of vet things. She doesn't make a sound as she's picked up, but when she's adjusted and you begin walking home, you notice her fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt a little tighter than usual, that she's curled up a little more, and that she looks so pitiful and broken that your stomach does a horrific twist.

 

The walk home is quiet to you despite the bustle of people and cars and the thump of bass from assorted stereo systems. You don't even notice the stares this time, and the ones you do see you don't care about. You're too tired and drained and worried about Terezi to give a shit about what some Joe Schmoe thinks of you two, self- image be damned. When you get to your apartment after riding the elevator up to your floor you nearly miss the keyhole to your door. You're so spacey and out of it that you would have laughed at your own incompetence a few days ago. The sheer amount of changes you've undergone in just a few days hits you then, and you suddenly know exactly why you never wanted to have kids.

 

But now you also know why people  _do_ want kids. You don't know all the reasons for wanting one yet, nor do you know all the downsides, but there's suddenly this urge to  _learn_ . You want to protect this girl and to watch her grow and to help her along while she becomes an adult. You want to be there for her. 

 

You want to love her.

 

Because you don't. Not yet, it's too soon. But you're certainly well on your way. You still aren't sure how you're going to work with her blindness, or how you're really going to raise her, or how you're going to support the both of you, but dammit, you're going to try and you're gonna be the best mom there ever was or your name isn't Vriska Serket.

 

You plod to your room and set Terezi on the bed, where she promptly curls up and zones out, half- asleep. You ponder to yourself what you're going to do for dinner tonight and how work is going to go tomorrow while you stare down at the collar in your hands. It's blue, but somehow it's not one of the many shades you like. Somehow, this one's ugly. You suddenly hate it with a passion. She doesn't need this, she can talk for fuck's sake! Rose even said that mentally, she's nearly ten years old- you wouldn't put an animal collar on a ten-year-old, right? Ew. She won't be needing this.

 

You pitch it in the garbage bin and blow a sigh out through your mouth, running a hand through your tired, unstyled hair and plopping onto the bed. This sudden exhaustion is growing increasingly more frequent, and it isn't something you're used to. You can now relate to those near-dead looking 40-something women hauling toddlers you see in the grocery store, despite the fact that Terezi is probably the opposite of rambunctious. It's just a 'having a kid' thing, you suppose, a combination of caring for them and constantly worrying about them that ultimately makes you tired.

 

You want nothing more than to lay down and sleep, but you really should be getting up and doing something- you have a commission due by next week and if you don't clean up that sketch pretty soon, you'll end up forgetting about it. You sit for a minute, blinking, before you finally heave yourself off the bed like it's made of wet cement, sighing as you plunk yourself at your drawing desk and turn on the light. This mermaid won't draw herself, you rationalize, humming absently while you pick up your pencil and resign yourself to work. You have a long few hours ahead of you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i am so sorry this took FOREVER. wow, yeah, school is far more demanding than i'm used to so expect less frequent updates. i haven't given up on this story, though, don't worry!

**Author's Note:**

> This is to be a fairly long story. I'm going to try to be as original as i possibly can when it comes to who's a troll and who's a human here, and it would be really great if i could figure out how to illustrate this! Hopefully i won't bail out on this before i finish writing out the chapters, because i am actually very excited about this plot. Thanks to my moirail for helping with plot ideas!


End file.
